Drama From Square One
by LostInBlueSkies
Summary: What happens between Charlotte and Frasier after the finale? What will Charlotte do when she finds out that Frasier is back in town? UPDATED
1. Exaggerations

Drama From Square One by Marita Linde  
Chapter One

Author's notes: Hi guys! I started this story after I bought season eleven on Frasier on DVD and became obsessed with Frasier and Charlotte's relationship. I wanted to write something about what happened after the finale, and so here I am. I hope to continue it and even plan to, but we'll see what happens.

Charlotte didn't think she'd ever wanted to get on a plane less. She was in line to get on; the people in front of her were handing their tickets over to the concierge. He was greeting them, letting them through. The line kept getting smaller. Less and less people separated her from that door. Suddenly it was her turn, and with quite a lot of reluctance she handed her boarding pass to him and watched him punch it and hand it back to her.

"You're good to go," he said with a smile when he saw how she hadn't moved.

She gave him a weak smile and slowly trudged through the narrow hall, arriving finally at the plane and beginning to sob. Still she didn't turn back. She knew she'd never forgive herself if she didn't take the job in Chicago and Frasier would feel terrible. Still, the thought that she would most likely never see him again made her want to turn around and run all the way back.

Stepping off the plane almost a day later to greet the brisk Chicago air, she felt slightly better. She was here in the city she knew; everything was familiar. But the warmth and comfort of her home town couldn't dispel the chill inside of her that rose with every step - it wasn't going to be as easy as she thought to get over him. What had started out as a fun fling had ended up something much deeper. Still, as much as she wanted to kick herself for letting it happen, as terrible as she felt now, she couldn't regret it.

Her cab driver was old and foreign, and she was eager to climb out of the car when he pulled up in front of her apartment building. Handing him his money, she exited the car and let her feet fall onto that very familiar sidewalk. She was never one drawn to romantics, but as she stood there in the city she loved so much, near the place she'd called home for years, she felt like she was in the midst of an old movie. She grinned and, taking her bags with her, made her way home.

Over the next few days she met with all the friends she could find and told them about Seattle. She kept Frasier's role a small one, ensuring that she wouldn't have to talk about him at length. When anyone asked, she told them he was a sweet doctor who she'd dated a couple of times but never really connected with. But even those words were hard to say. Frasier was the past now, however, and she had made her decision for the future.

The days passed without anything of real significance happening. She unpacked (sort of), and left the boxes to clutter up the rooms of her apartment. She went to work and met with clients, made phone calls and went to luncheons, met with friends and caught up. As the days passed, that chill inside her seemed to slowly evaporate, and she found herself thinking about Frasier less and less. This place had nothing to do with him, and she convinced herself she was happy to leave him behind.

One night, she was at a birthday party for an old friend. Dressed in something expensive, extremely uncomfortable, she was pretending to enjoy talking to a former client when a woman's voice from behind her caught her attention.

"Apparently he's supposed to be wonderful, or at least that's what she says. Well-respected, too. He did wonders for her and she doesn't even understand how it happened so fast."

"What's he like?" another woman asked, and Charlotte found herself even more intrigued by her reply.

"Tall, in his late forties, balding. My sister says he's got a real trace of dignity in him, and that he's very nice-looking. He has a soothing voice she says nearly puts her to sleep."

"Sounds like she's developing a little crush on him!" a third woman exclaimed, and the group giggled like a pack of teenaged girls.

"Just respect, she says. I feel like calling him up myself and thanking him - no one's been able to cure my sister of her phobia in years, and he managed to do it in four months!"

Charlotte excused herself from her conversation with the client and moved over to the group of woman, who all looked to be in their late fifties and very wealthy. She couldn't quite describe the feeling she had in her stomach, but at the moment it felt like she had just eaten lead and butterflies. "Hello," she said, smiling. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, ladies, and I was just wondering who this wonderful psychiatrist is that you're talking about. Is he local?"

"Oh no, dear," a tall, strikingly beautiful woman answered. "He's from Seattle. My sister lives there, she's the one seeing him. His name's Dr. Crane. Niles, I think, is his first name." All the women looked at her curiously as she blinked madly and then smiled again.

"Oh, how funny, I..." She trailed off, staring into their expectant faces. "I know him, is all. He's a great guy." They smiled and she turned around, heading for the bar. How the mere mention of that last name had managed to send that chill back inside of her she didn't know, but it scared the hell out of her.

That night she arrived at her apartment late. She switched on the lights and looked around at her empty apartment, the only things decorating it several lonely-looking brown cardboard boxes. She took a deep breath, but still sadness enveloped her suddenly like a bad smell.

She picked up the phone and dialed her mother's number. She picked up on the second ring and Charlotte smiled at the sound of her voice. "Hi mom," she said softly, and listened as her mother shifted the phone from one ear to another.

"Charlotte, is that you?"

"Your only child, yes," Charlotte answered, "unless there's something you'd like to tell me."

Her mother laughed. "How are you, baby?" she asked, the tone of genuine concern present in her voice.

"Oh mom..." Charlotte started, then took a deep breath. "I'm okay."

"Are you really?" her mother asked. "Because you sound terrible."

"Thanks," Charlotte said sarcastically, then sighed. "No, I guess I'm not. The truth is, something really ridiculous has happened. I mean, well, I knew I'd miss Frasier when I came here, but it's getting sort of excessive."

"Ah." Her mother made a sound with her mouth and then there was silence for several seconds. "Well, have you called him?"

"No, no, of course not. That wouldn't be fair to him. We had an agreement that when I moved away it would be over between us." She picked at a piece of lint on her sweater and stared at her hands. "What should I do? I think I'm just overreacting, but what if I'm not?"

"Well, darling, I think four days is a little too early to tell," her mother said, and then paused. "It's only natural that after three wonderful weeks with a wonderful man you'd feel slightly... sad when it was all over."

"But that's the thing," she said loudly, sitting up in her chair. "I don't just feel sad. I feel... worse than I've ever felt in my entire life. It's like I can't shake myself out of it. It's as if everything has lost its meaning now that he isn't here. Isn't that way too melodramatic for me?"

"For you? Sweetie, nothing is too melodramatic for you."

"So you think I'm overreacting."

"I think you're in love," her mother said softly, and Charlotte could hear how tired her voice was. "And I don't know what to tell you, I honestly don't. I wish I could just tell you to move back here, but I can't. And I can't tell you to just forget him, because it's obvious that won't work."

"Maybe it will," Charlotte broke in, her voice trembling. "Maybe I just need to give myself a little more time."

"Maybe you do," her mother said, but it was obvious she didn't think so. "Give yourself another two weeks or so, and if after that you're not even slightly better, then you can start thinking in drastic measures, okay?"

"Okay." She sighed and told her mother goodbye, then stared around at the bare walls of her dead apartment and started to cry.


	2. Contemplations

Drama From Square One

Chapter 2

Author's notes: Despite bad press, I shall prevail! LOL. Seriously though, I don't write for anyone other than myself, and this story was really so I could get some piece of mind. It's nice if others like it, of course, that's the whole point of my posting this here, but it's not my number one priority. :)

Thank you so much to all the wonderful reviews I got. It's wonderful to see people offering pointers and giving compliments – it makes my day so awesome! You guys rock. Hope you like this chapter.

Frasier stepped on to the balcony of his apartment and stared out into the sky. The chill of early evening was settling into the air, and he wrapped his arms around himself and shivered slightly. In front of him all he could see were lights dotting the otherwise black of night, and he suddenly felt very alone, standing there on the cold cement with a hand resting on the steel of the ledge.

He'd convinced himself that his entire life had been leading up to this point - that this is what he'd been working for - but he realized now that it wasn't really true. A change in his job wouldn't make everything better - he'd tried that once eleven years ago, and though his life was much improved since then, it didn't really have anything to do with the fact that he'd quit private practise. A move to California would let him start fresh, but only in things he didn't need or - deep down - want to start fresh in. Still, the thought of staying here seemed worse somehow, and so he was moving.

Just as he walked back into the empty apartment and flicked on the TV, his doorbell rang and he glanced at the door. "It's me," said a muffled voice that sounded a lot like Roz's. Frasier opened the door and let her in.

"I rang the doorbell like five times, then gave up and went to the lobby to flirt with your cute doorman," she said, throwing her purse on his couch. "Where were you?"

He gestured to the balcony. "Sorry, can't hear anything when the door's closed."

She nodded and stared him in the face. "You've been acting kind of weird lately, is something wrong?" Concern edged her voice and she moved closer to lay a hand on his arm. He sighed and collapsed on the couch, and she followed suit.

"Well, I'm doing my last show tomorrow," he reminded her. "I'm sad to leave all my friends and patients at the radio station."

"Of course," she said, but her voice betrayed that she knew there was more.

"I'm feeling a bit... scared about California," he confessed, looking down at his hands. "I'm afraid I'm moving for the wrong reasons, like I think the farther I get from Charlotte the easier it will be to forget her."

"It might be true," Roz's gentle voice said. "She's not coming back, Frasier. Maybe you just need to start fresh."

He nodded, turned his head to look her in the eye, and leaned in to kiss her softly on the cheek. "You're right, of course."

"And hey," she said, making her voice light, "chances are you might find an awesome woman in California and life will be perfect. In fact, I'm sure you'll find someone, Frasier. Soon." She threw him a wide smile and reached for the remote, flicking on the TV. "Now let's watch that movie."

The next afternoon, after doing his very last show, he spent much too much time hugging people he'd never even spoken to and watching friends and family cry over his impending departure. A queasy feeling has settled itself in his stomach when he woke up, and every time someone mentioned 'California', it got worse. The thought of picking up and moving to an unfamiliar place did not, in itself, make him sick. It was more the fact that for the past eleven years he'd been searching for a woman to share his life with, and when he'd finally found the perfect one, he'd let her slip away.

Roz appeared from around the corner, her cheeks wet with tears, holding a box. "Hey Frasier, I rounded up some of the stuff in my booth I wanted you to have before you left." She handed it to him without looking him in the eye, and glancing inside of it he saw a plastic red microphone, a tape, and an old picture of the two of them that had been sitting on her desk since their second year working together.

"Roz...," he started, but she smiled and forced him into a tight hug before he could finish.

"Don't," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "I understand why you're doing this, and I don't want to make a huge deal out of it. I'll be fine in a few weeks, maybe even days! I'm just emotional, is all." He watched her wipe away her tears and nearly everything in him crumbled with affection for her.

He squeezed her shoulder as she walked past and muttered, "I'll see you tonight at dinner."

The six of them sat around a large table in the middle of the restaurant that night. Roz, on his left, seemed to have given up on her tears and was now acting annoyingly cheerful. Niles had ordered everything for him so far, giving him wistful glances between exclamations of, "You have got to try this before you go!" and "Oh, but this is to die for!". Daphne was silent, picking at her food. Ronnie was, too, obviously feeling a little left out as they recounted old memories. Dad was acting like it was just another night out, which he found endearingly typical. Frasier himself had never felt less like eating.

In less than twenty-four hours, he'd be on a plane to California. His new landlord had called him that morning to confirm that he'd be moving in to his gorgeous, beach-side apartment at nine o'clock tomorrow night. His ticket was in his coat pocket. Everything was packed, ready to make the trip. There was an enormous part of him that was excited to go, excited to start fresh, but the psychiatrist in him was rearing its ugly head. Why did he feel the need to move so often? Was leaving for a better job a good enough reason? Shouldn't he pick up his life and carry it somewhere else for something more substantial, something like... the one?

The truth was, if Charlotte wasn't the one for him, he didn't know who could be.

At three o'clock the next afternoon, as Frasier sat mulling over a coffee and a paper, Roz knocked frantically on his door and then let herself in, carrying Alice. "Frasier, thank goodness you're here. Can I talk to you... alone?" She glanced at Alice.

"Yeah, sure, of course," he said, slightly worried, and turned on the TV for Alice before leading Roz to his bedroom. "What is it?" he asked as soon as he had shut the door.

"I didn't want to tell you this, because I know you have enough on your mind with the move and everything, but I can't take it anymore. There's no one else I really feel like I can talk to about this kind of stuff." She was breathing heavily, and Frasier noticed, for the first time, the bags under her eyes. He thought back to the number of times he'd seen her cry in the past few days. As usual, he'd been self-centred enough to believe it was all about him.

"Just... tell me, Roz," he said, and his voice shook.

"It's Rick," she blurted, sitting down on the bed. "He called the other day and wants to meet Alice. I guess I knew it would come someday, but... I'm terrified. He's coming in a week and it's so terrible, because I always pictured you there with me when it happened, and now you're going to be gone. And I started thinking... what do I all depend on you for?" She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. He bent down, taking her hands in his, and she continued. "The list was endless. What the hell am I going to do without you?"

He pulled her into a hug as she started to sob. "Oh Roz, it's only California! It's not far at all. I'll be back all the time for visits."

"Oh come on, Frasier," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "We both know you're not going to California."

Hugging them all, those shells of being who had somehow become empty and yet electrified and glowing to his eyes, he felt the sum of something great and tumultuous pulsing through his veins. Their bodies, their skin against his - theirs was a real, tangible love, one he could feel and see and hear. He could watch the way their eyes shone and come to the direct conclusion that they meant it when they said they loved him. What kind of a love was he leaving them for?

A fresh batch of inhibitions rose as he walked away from them and to his gate. He hadn't told anyone else - except Roz - that he was going to Chicago. Not because he wanted to keep it a secret from them, but because he was afraid it wouldn't work out and then he'd look pathetic. And besides, he was afraid of the idea himself - moving so far away into a city he didn't really know - and he could only imagine how they'd feel when he told them.

As terrible as he felt leaving his family, he was ecstatic to be leaving for something that meant so much to him. Finally, he knew. Sure, he was afraid that Charlotte wouldn't feel the same, but at the same time it was wonderful to just know exactly how he felt about her, and to be doing something about it. Now, at least, he would know for sure, instead of spending every day in California wondering if it could have worked out between them.


	3. Drunken Imitations

Drama From Square One – Chapter Three

Author's Notes: This is a shorter chapter, but I have the next one ready to go. This was the only logical place I could stop the series of events. The next chapter will be a bit longer and deal with more. Hope you like it!

Every bone in her body ached when Charlotte woke up the next morning. A stabbing pain pounded in all corners of her skull; she'd never had such a terrible headache. As she stepped out of bed, the bottom of her foot landed on an empty bottle of whiskey and she fell back onto the mattress. "Damn it," she muttered, standing up and kicking the bottle under the bed.

The only thing she wanted to do was throw up and die, but she was an hour late for a meeting and her conscience compelled her to get dressed and stare at herself in the mirror for a few minutes as a formality. Then she jumped in the taxi she had just called, practically shouted out the address of her office, and heaved from the lurch of the car when the driver took off.

"All right guys, I'm here," Charlotte announced, stepping into the meeting room and forcing a grin. About a dozen of her employees were sitting around a large table and staring at her. "Sorry I'm late. I slept in. Shall we get started?"

No one said anything. Irene, Charlotte's most-loathed employee and her secretary, smirked behind her hand and threw an eye roll at her best friend Susan. Jeff, who Charlotte loved very much at the moment, piped in with, "Sure!"

After the meeting from hell, Charlotte still felt like hell, so she visited the bathroom and spent the next five minutes throwing up. As she left her stall, she noticed Irene standing against the wall watching her.

"Rough night?" she asked in a surprisingly friendly manner.

"Yeah," Charlotte answered with a laugh, and went to splash her face with cold water. She was about to ask her how the new newspaper ads were coming along when Irene broke in with,

"Oh, I almost forgot, someone called for you this morning. A man."

Charlotte frowned. "A customer?"

Irene shook her head. "I forget what he said his name was. He was a doctor, though. Deep voice."

"Did you write his name down?" Charlotte asked almost frantically, and was met with a head shake from Irene. "What did he want?" She stared Irene in the face.

"Don't know. Said he'd call back. He wanted you, that's all I can remember." She disappeared into a stall and Charlotte let out a silent scream and pretended to pull out her own hair. Oh, she was so fired.

The next day, waltzing into work feeling almost worse than she had the day before, she began to wonder why the hell Frasier would call her. Maybe something terrible had happened with his family, or his health. Or maybe he was in town wanted to meet with her. Even though she knew that would be a bad idea, her heart still jumped at thought of seeing him.

From outside her office she heard Irene (who was still working for Charlotte despite her sheer incompetence) saying, presumably to someone on the phone, "Of course she's in, yup, I'll link you."

Her phone rang. Charlotte picked it up absent-mindedly, still deep in thought, and greeted the person on the other line with, "Charlotte Grey, matchmaking service."

"Hello Charlotte," a voice said, and she did a double take.

"Frasier?" She sat down in the chair behind her and tried not to let her mind race. "Is something wrong?" She was surprised at the level of worry in her voice, but said nothing more, only breathed and waited for him to speak.

"Wrong?" he asked, then quickly said, "Oh, no, no, nothing's wrong," as if he only just then understood what she had asked. "How are you?"

She blinked, not expecting him to ask her that question, then ran her finger along the edge of a book while she told him she was doing fine.

"That's great, I'm glad," he said genuinely. She heard 'room service' being muffled out in the background and immediately her heart jumped.

"Where are you calling from?"

"A hotel..." he said slowly, "in Chicago."

Oh no. "Oh, well, what are you doing here?" She tried her hardest to make her voice sound casual. It was like she knew what he was going to say before he even said it, and she squeezed her eyes shut and waited.

"Would you like to meet for coffee?"


End file.
